Windows On Reality
by ThnksFrThMmrs87
Summary: His eyes told her everything, even when he tried to conceal it


Disclaimer—I don't own the characters of CSI: NY. If I did Flack would have taken his fine self over to Stella's in You Only Die Once so she could see just exactly what was going on under that tuxedo… and so the rest of us could see exactly what was going on under that tuxedo :)

She realized that he truly didn't realize just how much his eyes revealed. He had told her once that her poker face was virtually non-existent; that he had been right about. What he didn't realize was though his poker face was spectacular those great big baby blues of his said everything. His face could always pretend, but those eyes could never lie. They always said that eyes were the window to the soul, and his certainly were. But more importantly, his eyes were a window on reality. Whatever his face told the world, she could always see reality in his eyes.

He had been a pillar of strength throughout her ordeal with Frankie. He'd been careful to keep his face attentive but relatively neutral. He knew that the last thing she wanted was raging emotion; she had enough of that on her own. So he'd been careful, but in his eyes she had seen what he was really thinking. She had seen the hurt and the anger there as she told her story. There had been hesitance there before they embraced as he clearly wondered if she would want to be touched; and when they pulled away she saw the pride in his eyes even though he didn't say a word.

He was careful during cases not to reveal anything to a suspect other than exactly what he wanted them to hear. But a trained observer could always tell what he was thinking. He had an uncanny ability to sense a lie, and it was written in his eyes when he heard one. Those eyes would flash like blue lightning when a perp got close to a nerve or said something ignorant; and they would freeze hard as ice if anyone dared question his integrity or that of any of his friends.

There were times when he spoke of what had gone down with the Dobson case, and though he clearly expressed his opinions about Trubie he was careful to keep his face guarded. No matter how hard he tried she could always see the anger and betrayal in his eyes. And when he was recovering after the blast she would ask how he was feeling and he would inevitably half smile and say 'just fine', even though she had seen him wince at some small movement a dozen times and pain clouded those beautiful eyes of his.

She knew a funeral was the last place she should be thinking about all this, but watching him from across the room made it difficult not to. Today he wasn't a cop. He wasn't a detective or an officer or anything else. Today he was just a big brother with grief resting oppressively on his shoulders. He wouldn't cry; she wasn't even sure if he'd be able to. But she watched his stoic face as they lowered his sister's coffin into the ground. Though he didn't show any outward signs of distress other than quiet grief, and though he didn't share a tear, Stella saw the reflection of Don's breaking heart in the cobalt blue of his eyes.

The ceremony was as beautiful as it could be. When you were saying goodbye to a vivacious and intelligent twenty something whose life had been senselessly ripped away it was difficult to find much beauty, no matter the effort made. When the funeral was over there were the usual platitudes and expressions of grief to be endured by the family. Stella could see his thoughts in his eyes; 'you weren't there. You didn't hold her while she died. You're saying this for yourself, not for me. Not for her.'

It seemed like forever before everyone cleared out. Even after his family had gone Flack stood there, and so did Stella. She could practically see the damning thoughts in his eyes; the whys and the ifs playing out on a background of blue. She wished he would just let go, that he would forget the mask he was wearing and really grieve; just let everything match the hurt and anger in his eyes. It was a long while before she went to him, and still he hadn't moved a muscle.

Stella crossed the distance between them slowly, thinking of what she could say and knowing that nothing would ever make it better. So at first she didn't say a word. Instead she just stood next to him and laced their fingers 

together, lending her silent support. Her hand was hot against his icy skin, and Flack wondered if he'd ever be warm again. His hand squeezed hers gently, and still his eyes never wavered from the grave.

"Don," she whispered. "You couldn't have stopped this."

"How do you know that's what I'm thinking?" he asked, trying for a casual tone and failing.

She kept her one hand in his but turned to face him, the other coming to rest against his cheek. "Your face tells me one thing but your eyes say another, they always do."

The eyes in question closed for a moment as he leaned into her touch, only to open again and meet hers. "I keep thinking if I had just gotten there sooner, if she hadn't listened to her friends and gone to the party."

"If that kid hadn't brought a gun or if she had called you sooner to come and get her, I know. There are too many ifs Don, there always are. We can't control the rest of the world."

"I know, logically I know; but I held my baby sister and watched her die while we waited for an ambulance. How can I not wonder how it could have been different?"

Stella shook her head. "There's no way to stop it; you'll always wonder. But you can't let the wondering tear you apart, and you can't keep going without letting loose what you're feeling. I can see it in your eyes, but I need to see it on your face."

His hand came up to his face and he gently pulled her away and twined their fingers together so she held both of his hands. Their eyes met, and she could see him breaking as he spoke. "Stell."

"Just let it out Don," she said quietly.

He knew she could see the struggle he was having. He was an emotional man, though he usually tended to lose his temper more than showing his pain. It was hard for him to let go of his control that way; but Stella was looking up at him with pain and worry in those expressive green eyes of hers, and he knew she was right. The dam finally broke; for the first time since his little sister had said goodbye, knowing she would die as she bled out in his arms, he let himself cry.

Stella cried with him, for the life that had been lost and the heart that had been shattered in the process. Their hands broke apart as he wrapped his arms around her, and they held on to each other for dear life as a storm of emotions battered at them. She held onto him as he finally let go, and though she couldn't see his face she somehow knew that it wouldn't be only his eyes that spoke to her now. Stella curled into him, moving easily as he pulled her tighter to his chest; she felt his tears fall as hers soaked into his shirt. All she could hope now was that she could be there for him as he healed, and that even though the wound would never fully close, she could help bring the light back into his eyes; that one day she would look up at him and see happiness again, and know that she had a part in helping him get there.

But that for that day, for that moment, the light in his eyes was extinguished. For that moment all there was there was the pain and regret. And between them was the hope for comfort as they held each other as if they would never let go.

Note From The Author—Look out, I'm in angst mode again. As far as I know we don't know a thing about Flack's sister other than the fact that she exists. For that reason, she came immediately to mind when I decided to kill someone. I was going to go with Angell but that put me in a sticky situation with why Flack would be so terribly torn up etc. etc. so it was just easier not to go there. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it.


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